The Thirty-Third Year
by Gray Daisy
Summary: Who could possibly be the Thirty-Third Victor?
1. District Seven, Reaped

**Author's Note**: How very excited I am to be doing an SYOT. I've always wanted to do one. :-) Each sender is allowed two tributes. I will choose the winner of the Games out of a hat.

**Here's what you can expect from me**: Weekly/Bi-Weekly updates, 2,000+ word chapters, shout-outs, fan service, and sneak peeks.

**Here's what I expect from you**: Legitimate reviews, constructive criticism, and, occasionally, some ideas.

If you would like to send in, look on my profile for the application. Tributes will only be accepted through he Private Messenger. Any tribute(s) sent through the review section will be ignored and deleted. I am sorry to do this, but I really don't want to get reported. Please and thank you.

* * *

She could remember the first tributes, walking up to the bright and shiny stages—the ones built from the rubble of the Rebellion, in which she'd lost her sister and cousins—to be sent to their deaths. The first Victor, thirty-three years ago, wasn't from her District. Not from Seven.

But from District 2, the ones who'd started the talk of Rebellion, then immediately joined with the Capitol. "Traitorous dogs," she remembered her big sister saying to their cousin Jean, both so much older than her, but both so young.

Her limbs felt numb in their sockets, and her hair, she knew, was dirty and needed washing, but she couldn't bring herself to care. If her daughter or son were chosen, they would film her, as well. She could see it, hysterical and crying, as she had been so many years ago when she was Reaped. She could only imagine what she would look like now—no longer so young and fresh-faced with doe eyes.

No longer so innocent.

By the time she rose out of bed, both Rose and Romulus were already awake, with their father, eating breakfast—eggs and bacon and toast and oatmeal and lots of bread. Romulus was a bit pudgy lately, she noticed, only growing bigger since he'd turned fifteen. Rose was still as willowy as ever, however, and her pretty young face looked hollow and inattentive this particular morning.

Rose was her oldest, at seventeen, and Amelia's hands went to her belly, rounded with her newest treasure. Wren. She could feel her little songbird awakening, as her older siblings had.

Amelia patted her daughters head as she passed. Shiny, glossy golden hair, and brilliant brown eyes gleamed up at her, "Mom."

Amelia's chest swelled. It took all she had not to drop to her knees and clutch onto her daughter in desperation.

"Good morning, sweetheart." She smiled at her son, "Make sure not to eat too much, darling, you don't want to get sick."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, gulping down a large cup of orange juice.

"Mom," Rose jumped from her chair with a sense of urgency, "We're late!"

* * *

Amelia watched from her place on the stage—beside her partner for the last twenty-two years, Oscar Thropp. He was only five years older than her, and eighteen-year-old Victor, who Volunteered for his baby brother. Amelia had always felt a fondness for him that she couldn't explain. Kindred spirits, perhaps, but she had no time to think of it now, as the Mayor—Dean Summerset—was introducing the District Escort, a woman by the name of, "Chyree Kline!"

She was rather insufferable, Amelia had always felt, but she never said anything. Surely, Chyree would pitch a fit, like a child, and complain to whomever she felt would do something about it, and then, even though the chances were quite small, her children and husband would be hurt because of it.

Amelia zoned out—reliving the Arena, watching all her alliances crumble and each child beside her die, one by one—until the first name was called.

"Maureen Pike," Chyree bubbled into the microphone, her pale, pea-green hair bouncing with each syllable. Amelia could see the girl—dark red hair and blue eyes—part from her place in the crowd, horrified, as she made her way to the stage. Amelia caught sight of her daughter crumbling in the crowd, her brilliant brown eyes bursting in tears. Amelia's breath caught in her throat.

Oh, yes, Amelia did know this girl. She was Rose's closest companion. A pang of sadness washed over her—perhaps Rose would blame her mother if this girl died. Amelia bit her lip nervously—could she save this child's life, as she had no other for the past twenty two, painstaking years? She could certainly try.

The girl took her place on the stage, and the audience clapped halfheartedly, and then Chyree announced the male tribute, in her squeaky, irritating voice "Devin O'Riley."

Amelia did not know this boy, but Oscar did. She could see it in his face, his blue eyes already rimmed with tears, his lip trembling. Amelia reached out and clasped Oscar's, her best friend, hand. His was clammy and limp in hers, but she held on anyway.

Devin was a scrawny boy with light brown hair and brown eyes. He wasn't handsome, wasn't anything special, and without a second thought, Amelia knew he would die. At least Maureen had some meat and height, this boy was thin and tiny and seemingly helpless.

He would break like a vase.

The audience clapped again, and it was all over. Amelia departed the town square, and found her children, her husband, and clutched them. "I love you, I love you, I love you, so, so, so much. Behave for your father," she said to them, "and be safe. I'll be back by next month." And with that promise and all her love, she and the tributes—for the hour had passed so, so quickly—left for the Capitol.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know, it started on District Seven, but I wanted to be original. This, of course, means that you cannot have D7 tributes, but I don't see that as much of a loss. Please send in—I do appreciate it. Much Obliged.


	2. Character List

Author's Note: Just a simple list of tributes. Next chapter will be posted directly following this. Enjoy :-)

District One:

Male: Duke Rasola

Female: Grandeur Castel

District Two:

Male: Glow Jennings

Female: Cleo Manoir

District Three:

Male: Jules Lucas

Female: Alva Santiago

District Four:

Male: Faxon Yates

Female: Rosemary Azure

District Five:

Male: Kevin Poatsy

Female: Brooke Jana

District Six:

Male: Tyler Owen Swint

Female: Diane Eltington

District Seven:

Male: Devin O'Riley

Female: Maureen Pike

District Eight:

Male: Wayne Connors

Female: Lyricia Spade

District Nine:

Male: Stephen Prong

Female: Anita Lathe

District Ten:

Male: Daniel Hardoff

Female: Opal Ramirez

District Eleven:

Male: Jonathan Guerrero

Female: Saffron Kerner

District Twelve:

Male: Roald Harrison

Female: Emma Whitfield

Have nice day! :-)


	3. District One, Reaped

Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who sent in, everyone who gave me views, and everyone's support. You're all so amazing. Especially lalala445, Demented Kawaii Kitten, FireBird128 and splendeur for reviewing. I love you all.

* * *

I hope you enjoy the District 1 Reapings!

"That's kind of creepy, Duke." Glenda said, hesitant to take the small, dark ring from his hand.

"I thought it was kind of cool. 'S why I bought it."

"No. It's more creepy than cool." She pouted, "Are you really using this as your Token? It won't really get you any sponsors..."

"Yes, I am—and I don't need them anyway," he huffed, imitating a diva, "I'm perfect and if they don't realize that, well, then— "

Glenda giggled. ''Alright, then. Enjoy your creepy ring, Duke. I've got to go meet with Grandeur and the others—The Instructor told the girls to get together before the Reaping. I'll see you after."

He gave her a half-wave, "Bye."

"And I hope you lose the ring," she called palyfully, as she disappeared behind the building's pillars.

"I hope you lose the ring," he mimicked to himself with a laugh. He headed towards the town center despite it being an hour early. Going back home would be a poor idea—his parents were still there and he would rather avoid confrontation with them at any costs.

He checked in with the guards, looking around at the scarcely populated area. It normally bustled with activity, with wealth and lavish things his mother adored, with the diamonds his father mined. He frowned.

"Alright," The Peacekeeper said softly, "Give me your finger." He obliged, and gave an over-reactive wince as she pricked his finger. She smiled, "May the odds be in your favor, Mister Rasola."

He winked at her, and wandered around the gated area surrounding the stage.

* * *

"I expect most of you want to volunteer," Instructor Illyng said with a smile, "But: I think we should narrow down who should volunteer now."

Grandeur frowned, but the majority of the girls looked at least at peace with the idea. It seemed foolish to her—wasn't the rule about multiple volunteers to pick best dressed, anyway? Why did they need this little meeting.

"Now," Illyng continued, "Take a vote on who you think should go."

"Kendra, who do you think should?"

"Grandeur."

"Perfect!" Illyng chirped, "Glenda?"

"I think Grandeur should, too, actually."

"Lilac?"

"I should."

"Ah, good choice," The instructor teased. "Grandeur?"

"If Lilac want to go, she should," Grandeur gave a sweet smile to Lilac, who nodded in return. "But what would happen if I were Reaped, Illyng? Would one of us volunteer to take my place, or would I be allowed to go?"

"Well, if one of you were Reaped, I expect the rest of you to let them have the honor! We're all friends here—you're not competing against the girls from your District!"

"Right," Lilac echoed hollowly, "If I volunteer for one who isn't one of us, I'll go. If I get Reaped, I'll go. Right."

Grandeur looked at the other girl strangely, but paid no mind. She and the other girls departed the Training Grounds and went to the Town Center, which was filling up quickly.

* * *

The speech seemed longer than ever to Grandeur, as she eyed the people onstage. Four winning Tributes from District One. Hans, the winner of Year Two, had killed his district mate, and was still, even after over thirty years, a social pariah. Lilac's father, Antonio, and a young man who won only a few years previous, along with his sister, who'd won three years before him. Grandeur could remember seeing both of them at the Training Academy when she was only starting out.

Finally, their District Escort called out the word's, "Ladies first!" And Grandeur's stomach clenched.

"Miss... Grandeur Castel!" Aha, she thought, making her way up to the stage gracefully, she knew taking out tesserae would work. She had taken an awful lot out.

* * *

In the fifteen year-old boys' section of the Square, a scrawny orphan from the Public Home trembled from head to toe as he watched the District One escort's perfect peachy lips sound out his name.

"Adam Wight, come up to the stage!"

He had only gotten a few steps out of the crowd when a boy only slightly older than himself voiced his opinion on the matter.

"I volunteer as tribute!" He grinned up at the stage, and gave Adam a slight pat on the shoulder before he practically jumped onto the stage.

"And what's your name, young man?" The Escort asked, eying him lustily.

"Duke Rasola," he said into her microphone.

"What a handsome name to go with such a handsome boy!"

He nodded wordlessly, and smiled at the crowd—many faces he did not know, but also many he did. He gave them a thumb's up, and as they were cheered off stage, he hoped he would see them again. Looking to the back of Grandeur's head, he hoped that if he didn't get to see his loved one's again, that she'd be able to see hers.

* * *

The goodbyes to his parents were fast, with little feeling and with overwhelming tension. He ached to board the train, then, to stuff himself with delights he'd never known, to watch the rest of the Reapings on the way to the Capitol, maybe get to know somethings about the Previous Victors—he didn't know why they were all going, since there wasn't four Tributes, just two.

But when his friends came in, it pained him to go. He wanted to stay with them, to make jokes in class and say horribly hilarious things to. How would he ever survive two weeks—his prediction at how long the Games would last—without them?

He had guessed he'd just have to make do.


End file.
